


Nuptials

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Knight [21]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6499921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their wedding ceremony, Poe takes Kylo far away from the world, if only for a little while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nuptials

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poetdameron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetdameron/gifts), [Themes_of_November](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themes_of_November/gifts).



> DC is heavily medicated and thus absolves herself of any weirdness.

It has been, without a doubt, one of the best days of Kylo Ren’s life. It has. All his family - his now very _large_ family - came to celebrate. His parents, Poe’s father, his uncles Chewie and Luke, Rey and Finn, all of Poe’s extended pilot family… decorated war heroes, droids… it felt like everyone who he’d ever smiled at was there. Which might actually have been true.

Most of it is a bit of a blur, now. He’ll have to watch the holo later, when he thinks he can do it without crying. His mother’s ceremony was so perfect that he’d felt it tingle all the way down his spine. Somehow, he’d even remembered his vows, and Poe’s had made him cry.

But now, now it’s official. He and Poe had been sure for months that their relationship was a forever-thing, and nothing would shake them from that. Still, there’s something special about having it codified, having it recognised by galactic law. Making a public statement of their mutual love and dedication.

Kylo is not one for huge, public displays of affection. He likes holding hands, and sitting, cuddling, but today has been pretty much impossible to be subtle about. He’s been front and centre, and everyone - **everyone** \- has clapped him on the arm or shoulder, or hugged him, or told him how happy and proud they are. It’s been a little draining, and Kylo is glad that they’re retiring, at last. 

Poe hasn’t drunk that much, which means - once they finish their last dance - they make their apologies and are showered with yet more ridiculous glitter stuff as they flee to the shuttle Poe’s commandeered. 

His _husband_. They share a quick kiss when they board, and the door closes and locks out the outside world.

And then it’s just the two of them. Poe’s holding his hands, and beaming up at him. Kylo stares down at his beloved, and he can’t understand how he got him. How he managed to win someone so perfect, beautiful and **kind**. They just stand there, drunk in the sight of the other, and sharing that private agreement. Thumbs stroking, and quiet little sighs.

“Got you,” Poe whispers.  


“You do.”  


“I could stare at you all night.”  


“I’d stare right back.” And he would. Kylo would. The soft, sure contentment in his pilot’s eyes. There’s nothing bad in the universe, not right now. It’s all outside, and in this bubble, they are safe. In here, together, a world of their own and there’s no intrusions.  


Kylo wonders if people are waiting for the engines to fire up, or if they’ve wandered back to enjoy the rest of the free bar and massive cake. Another sigh, and he’s so utterly owned. His heart isn’t his, but Poe keeps it perfectly safe. He loves him. And his mind just keeps looping around on that point like mad.

“Should I punch in the jump?” Poe asks. “I did find us somewhere nice.”  


“If it’s Hoth…”  


“It’s not Hoth. Or Jakku. I promise, babe.”  


“Then show me what you’ve done.”  


***

They sit and watch the stars spool past. Poe in the pilot’s chair, Kylo in the co-pilot’s. The jump is a short one, so they simply hold hands between the chairs. Kylo wants to know what Poe’s been so furiously planning. He’s been itching to poke around in his lover’s mind, but that would destroy the surprise.

BB-8 whirls up, and rocks, purring, just behind their hands. The droid isn’t needed on the shuttle, but it’s such an integral part to their family that there was no way it was staying behind. It _has_ , however, learned that discretion is the better part of valour when the two are enjoying one another’s intimate company, so Kylo doesn’t mind.

“Thanks, buddy,” Poe says, glancing down at the astromech.  


“And me, too,” Kylo adds.  


BB-8 pushes its central dome into their joined hands, rocks a few more times, and then rolls off deeper into the ship.

“Told you he’d come around.”  


“Yeah. He really did.”  


***

Poe brings the small shuttle down. They’re on some uninhabited moon, by the looks of it, orbiting a gas-giant. The approach through the rings had been spectacular, and Kylo loves that his boyf– his _husband_ \- went to so much effort to make even the landing beautiful. It’s simply another sign of his care and devotion.

“Why isn’t this place settled?”  


“The weather’s too changeable. The seasons are long, but when they change? It becomes inhospitable. It’s simply not worth the effort of shoring against those intemperate times, or relocating whenever it’s inconvenient. So it’s more like… a get-away place, than a live-on place.”  


“How did you even find out about it?”  


“I know people,” is all his wonderful pilot will say. “Come on.”  


***

A small walk from the landing pad (which is mostly just a clearing in the copse) and Poe guides him through the purple-pink trees to a lakeside. The water looks appealingly azure, but Poe warns him not to drink it.

“So noted.”  


There’s a little camping area to one side. There’s the basis of a fire piled up, but not lit, and cushions scattered around the pyre. There’s various sloping, waterproof sheets strung overhead, giving a shelter from any bad weather, and more pillows and cushions and what looks like a giant mattress of some form.

“Walls are last season?” Kylo asks, utterly amused.  


“Thought we could just… enjoy the scenery. If the weather gets bad, there’s built-in walls we unfurl to make it into a proper tent. And if it gets _really_ bad, we go back to the shuttle.”  


“I love it.”  


“Come with me?” Poe holds his hand out, and Kylo follows.  


The fire is lit in next to no time, and they move to sit on the huge pile of cushions. Kylo laughs, because however he moves, he’s cushioned. It’s overly showy, and he adores it. Poe kicks off his boots, putting his socks inside, and Kylo follows suit. Poe reclines, propped on one elbow, head in his palm, and watches.

For all they’ve made love in almost every position possible, indoors, outside, in a ship (in, on, under, by, and every proposition and preposition imaginable)… this means something. This is their first assignation as a married couple, and it will set the tone for everything that comes after, or so Kylo assures himself. He takes a moment to memorise this scene - all of it - including Poe… before he crawls closer, hovering over him like a slate-grey cloud.

Poe rolls onto his back, both elbows below him, and watches with satisfaction. “Is it up to your standards?”

“As ever, you exceed standards in ways I thought entirely impossible,” Kylo replies. He kisses the clothed legs under him, wandering up and letting his chest brush over Poe’s as he does. He settles his weight braced on either side of him, and then kisses the bare skin around his neck and shoulders, purring in low satisfaction.  


“Only the best for you.”  


“How can I ever show you how much you mean to me?”  


“Well… crying in front of everyone we know when I said my vows? That pretty much… almost made it.”  


Kylo laughs, and bites Poe’s mouth in revenge. “You were crying, too.”

“Because you started it! And anyway, I cry pretty. You cry like a waterfall.”  


Which is probably accurate. He had tried very hard not to go red and puffy and snorty, and just to tear up in an appealingly emotionally compelling fashion, but it was difficult.

“Shut up, pilot,” Kylo says, and kisses him again. He keeps his weight on his hands, head turned for best access. His beloved opens his mouth readily, but Kylo wants to go slow (for a change). He licks across his lips, over and over and over, pushing little murmurs of approval in with his own lips. Teeth pluck at his pilot’s lower lip like a plectrum over strings, and then - when Poe’s hands in his hair tense impossibly almost-too-tight - Kylo fucks his tongue gradually into Poe’s mouth. The hands in his hair lessen their death-grip, and curl and coil strands and locks between them; Kylo keeps with the slow, deep kiss until his head swims from it. He keeps going that tiny bit longer, and then breaks it to rest his forehead to Poe’s.

The hands in his hair slide over his face, and Kylo pulls back enough to meet Poe’s eyes. He smiles, and so does Poe, and then he feels fingers moving to slowly unbutton his shirt. The little round bullets are nudged through the eyes in his fabric, the tension let go when the seal is broken. Down and down and down. He’s undressed by degrees, and then Poe is pushing his shirt away from his shoulders, and Kylo lifts one arm, then the other, to help him remove the shirt fully. 

He doesn’t feel the same discomfort being naked, now. To begin with, it had been hard. Hard to let Poe see him, though the worst of his insecurities he bore on his face. Now he lets the pilot trail his fingers through the lines on his body, the scars and memories. He smiles and then lies down on top of Poe. A little wriggle, and they roll, and Poe is on his chest. Poe obligingly goes up onto all fours, and Kylo puts his hands down at the bottom of his shirt… and pulls it up and over his head. It tangles a bit around his face, leaving Poe giggling and pushing madly out of it, and then it’s tossed to one side, and they’re topless.

Which is the perfect time for more kisses. Naturally.

Kylo strokes hands over his lover’s shoulders, down his spine, up his sides. Poe has his elbows on the ground and both hands cupping his face as they make out. When his hands get to his waist again, Kylo pushes his flat-palms down over Poe’s ass, and his fingers curl under the curve of it, and he gently rocks him up and down, up and down. Poe’s definitely hard already, but Kylo wants to make this last as long as possible. 

“Sit up?” Poe asks.  


“Sure.”  


Poe moves as he does, and wraps his legs around Kylo’s waist. He’s sitting in his lap, and his arms drape over Kylo’s shoulders. Poe uses the changed position to get into a kneel astride him, and grind his ass down into the angle of his groin. Kylo grabs Poe’s hair and yanks his head back, then turns his head and bites firmly over the exposed column of his neck. His teeth sink around the cord from the stretch, and he growls lowly as he sucks hard. He keeps his teeth in as his tongue laves over the throbbing of his pulse, and Poe holds his head in place, silently asking for more.

Kylo is only too happy to oblige. He goes down to the bump where his collarbone juts out towards the world and licks it until Poe hisses, and then he puts his wide tongue in the dip between them. A lick - so, so, so slowly all the way up and over his chin and lips and into his mouth. Poe laughs and then he rocks back, and Kylo lets him. 

“We really gonna kiss all night?”  


“You impatient, Dameron?”  


“I’m amused.”  


Kylo snickers, and bounces Poe up and down on his lap. 

“How do you go from smooth seducer to weirdo so fast?” Poe asks, but he’s just as amused.  


“It’s a skill of mine.”  


“Take my damn pants off, babe.”  


“Anything my Commander desires.”  


Poe sits back, arms back on Kylo’s shoulders, and the Dark Jedi obliges accordingly. He strokes his fingers and his palms over the bulge in Poe’s pants, chasing the shape of the trapped, stiffening shaft under all the fabric. Kylo loves to do that, because Poe always bites his lip at the rough cloth sensation, and his hips do that little juddery thing. He grips him through the pants, and Poe shoves his crotch into his hand in open request. That means it’s time to unbuckle his belt, peel edges apart, and pull out his **husband’s** erection. Poe’s cock is gorgeous (like the rest of him, and no, he isn’t biased), all flush and ready. He fits just perfectly in Kylo’s large hands, and he lifts his balls out and lays them on one hand, hefting gently as his other hand starts to stroke him up and down. He knows how best to make his breathing stagger off course, how to chase the raised vein (that his tongue adores), how to pinch under the head, and how to curl his fingers around the tip and twist his palm around over the head. He teases at the lightly leaking slit, then his hands move back to Poe’s ass and he silently guides him to kneel up and get close enough for his mouth to join in the fun.

His husband gets one knee and one foot in place to present his crotch at face level, and Kylo rewards him by gripping his ass and rubbing his cheek all over until he laughs again. Mood most assuredly set, he holds him still and starts to flick little swipes of his tongue over his very happy anatomy. Poe moans in satisfaction, and Kylo chases as many sounds as he can get. First he licks very hard and dry over the base of his shaft, then to his balls, then back to his cock… before he draws a similarly dry line up to the head, and then tries to poke his tongue in the waiting little slit. 

“Oh, oh I love you, Ky.” He sounds so very content, like this could last all night and he’d be fine. “I love you so much.”  


“I should hope so,” he rumbles. “You did just marry me.”  


“Best thing I ever did.”  


A snort of air through his nose, and then Kylo wraps his lips around the cockhead and suckles firmly. He tastes as he always does, and Kylo will never get enough of that. He draws wiggly lines with his tongue, and then he starts to slurp his way up and down, up and down. Poe rocks very gently into his mouth, and it’s not going to be one of those _take it all and choke on it_ nights, but that’s fine. They have all the time in the world. The fire crackles warmly, the light dancing warm shadows over Poe’s torso, and Kylo can feel the heat radiating from it, and hear the soft noises of the water to one side. This place is thrumming with adaptive life, and he can feel the glow of the Force around them. Calm. Alive. Both, at once. 

One of Poe’s hands moves to rest on his own, on his ass. His left. Where he’s wearing a band. An old custom he said, and Kylo had been only too happy to respect it. Poe’s fingers trace the metal band on his finger, and Kylo pushes Poe deeper into his mouth, down until he’s inhaling curls and letting him hit the back of his throat. His eyes sting, despite how he’s used to it, and Poe’s breathing becomes hissy and noisy. He slows down, back to tiny licks and slurpy kisses, not minding when Poe pushes his pants down, and then kicks one leg and the other out, before leaving himself utterly naked. 

He’s a sculpture, infused with the living Force. Every angle, every plane is like someone took out a set square and a plumbline and designed him with the universe in mind. He slides hands over his thighs, around his hips, over the flat canvas of his stomach. He wants to memorise it all, and when he looks up…

“Let me… let me make love to you,” Poe asks, eyes so very earnest. “Like the precious thing you are. Let me make love to you like you never broke.”  


“But I did break,” Kylo says. “The fault lines are here.”  


“Then let me kiss them. Let me glue you back together with my lips. Let me hold you, and keep you together until everything shattered knits.”  


Poe. Poe who knows the worst that he is, and still sees the good. Still sees the Light, even on the days it’s harder. Still reminds him he can be better, be more, be… _loved_. Kylo swallows, and nods. He lies down as Poe uses two fingertips just above his heart, gently pushing him down and even with the lightest of touches, it feels like the weight of the galaxy. A word, and Poe could pin him forever. A look, and he would be stripped bare and raw. 

The power he has over him terrifies and excites, in equal measure. 

On his back, Kylo lifts his hands over his head in momentary surrender. He grasps one wrist with his other hand, and he lets Poe glide his hands over his bared torso. His eyes slide shut as he coasts the soft touches, and then there’s a hand between his legs. He moans, the sound reverberating in his throat deeper than his mask ever could, and rubs against Poe’s touches. He keeps stroking him even as he opens his pants, and then pulls them down and down and there’s some careful tessellation to work the rest of their clothes off, and Kylo swallows, hard.

“Poe–”  


“I know.”  


“No, I–”  


“ _I know_ ,” Poe insists, his voice fervent, and Kylo realises he does.  


His husband bends, and pushes his hair back from his face, and kisses him again. A hand between them curls around both their dicks with some difficulty, but he doesn’t stroke. He just holds them, and it’s maddeningly glorious. 

Kylo reaches out with his mind, a barely-there touch. Poe’s eyes crease at the seams, and he widens the bridge. Poe might not be Force-sensitive, but Kylo can project as easily as he can read. The feedback loop edges higher, and then there’s that difficulty in working out where one ends and the other begins. It’s probably dangerous, to be so lost in another, or it would be if it wasn’t Poe. Kylo can throw all his walls down for Poe, and he knows he won’t be hurt in the process. 

“I want to be inside of you,” Poe whispers.  


“I want it, too,” Kylo says. He does. He’s in Poe’s mind, and Poe is in his, and the last thing to tighten this down is for Poe to slip into his body. Kylo enjoys penetrating Poe as well, but if he’s honest his preference for the most part is for Poe to be inside of him. He likes the way it feels, and he likes the psychology of it. He likes the way it means he’s giving Poe something he’s treasured all along: control over himself. His mind so broken over the years, his body was one thing that he kept inviolate.  


Poe kisses him, and crawls slightly away to his jacket, finding the lube. When he comes back, he doesn’t get straight to work. Nope. He starts pulling cushions around, and makes a little wall of them. Kylo watches in curiosity, before going to lie as instructed. It supports him half on his side, so he’s not completely flat, and then Poe crouches over one thigh. Kylo wraps his uppermost leg around his husband’s waist, cinching him in tighter, and grabs hold of whatever soft, plushy things he can.

“You sure?”  


“Please,” Kylo insists. “I want you to take me so slow I scream.”  


“ _Maker_ , but I love you.”  


“Because I let you fuck me?”  


“No, but that doesn’t hurt.”  


Kylo knows Poe won’t be offended by the joke. They’re long past accidental offence, at least in bed. Most of the time. He sighs in soft appreciation as warm hands lift his balls up, and lube-slick fingers stroke against his prostate from the outside. It feels good, and he reaches down to lightly hold onto Poe’s arms. 

“I love the way you make me feel,” he says, because it’s true. “I love how you make every part of me burn. I love how I can trust you with everything. _Everything_.”  


“I love that you give that to me,” Poe admits, as he draws lazy circles around his hole. “I love feeling you open up to let me in. I love knowing I’m making you happy, too.”  


In goes his finger, and it’s so slow he wants to scream already. In, out, in, out. The best part is how it makes an itch start higher up and in, that tease to his entrance. That delicious drag of skin on skin, and his eyes slit happily. It goes deeper in, twisting as it does. Kylo memorises the feel of it, and he remembers when Poe first did this. He’d been so desperate to get fucked, to have Poe penetrate him, that he’d been an absolute asshole, and he hadn’t even known how to tell him.

Now? Now he can whisper ‘fuck me’, or ‘I need you to split me open’, or any number of absolutely filthy things. Poe doesn’t damn well mind because he _likes_ doing it, and he keeps telling Kylo it’s **fine** to ask for things. Which sometimes he forgets, but he’s getting better at it. 

He never imagined he’d be comfortable sprawling on his back, riding a finger, drowning in pillows and blankets as a fire sparks to the side. He never thought he’d put his hands to the floor, bent backwards, arching and throwing his legs wider in surrender as Poe works his magic. Poe’s fingers know how to drag him to the edge of bliss and keep him there, two, now, spreading and sliding back together. He calls out brokenly, and the third finger is in just before he got so wrecked with waiting that he begged. 

“Are you ready?” Poe asks him.  


“I am. I - I _am_.”  


Poe straddles the leg he has on the floor, scissoring between his thighs. Kylo keeps his other leg around him, and Poe shuffles closer. He’s at a slight angle like this, and it won’t be a deep, or powerful position to begin with. That’s fine. Poe can always move them, if he wants to. He’s spread wide, and the first push at his hole has his lashes fluttering eyes shut. 

“Look at me, babe.”  


He opens his eyes, and watches Poe’s face. Watches the look of utter **dedication, focus, concentration, control**. Poe is always so devoted, so utterly intent on his target, no matter what it is. Kylo loves to be the centre of those cross-hairs, minor existential terror aside. He watches the _fire_ in his gaze as he starts the slide inside, the way his whole body says he’s getting what he wants, and what he wants is Kylo. That’s a million times hotter than any touch could ever be, to be worthy of such drive, such longing. 

“Poe…”  


All the way in, and Kylo flexes around the full feeling. The way he’s stuffed, stuffed and it soothes that old ache in his heart. Joined, one, but two. Both. Both at once, like the two sides of the Force. Poe is Light in ways Kylo can never be, but Dark, too. Dark in his lust and his love, his heart that pounds and demands _victory_ and **acclaim**. Dark in his sense of pride and self-accomplishment. Dark, but the good kind. Light, too: selfless, giving, _kind_. He’s the counterpoint to everything in Kylo, and Kylo adores him.

Again he moves, the rock in and out so agonisingly slow that he swears the stars have moved across the sky thrice in between thrusts, between heartbeats. This isn’t about chasing their endings, no. It’s much too languid for that. Later, later they will. Kylo doesn’t know if he can climax from such a tender push inside of him, the lightest graze against his prostate. It’s not the hard pounding he tends to favour, that gets him spurting fastest. Hands in his hair holding him still for a reaming almost in two: that’s how he comes best. He often doesn’t even need a hand on him, the rough treatment and forceful pressure enough and more than enough to tip him over the edge. This… is a torture of another kind. This is going to make his stomach skip for the rest of his life, the sight of an open fire and a memory low inside. He knows, this… this is them. This is them, as much as the frantic slamming, the handprints and toothmarks. The scratches over his back, and the lovebites on his neck.

Kylo touches Poe’s mind again, and he sees the smile break the patina of deep thought. Poe bends, kisses him, and with his hands on the floor he starts to fuck him in earnest. He doesn’t have his full power like this, but he _does_ have gravity. He lifts and drops and Kylo is delirious with how incredible that feels. Over and over and over, and he blurts his gratitude through their mental link like words. Easier, to feel than to say. 

The taller man knots his hands behind Poe’s head, fingers laced, holding him gently as Poe gives him all the strength he has. The angle - slightly twisted - is a fresh wonder, and he feels as Poe changes his direction of movement to better hit that spot in him. His toes curl, and he babbles nonsense as Poe keeps it up. 

He doesn’t expect his leg suddenly pushed back. Hand under his knee, and he’s split so wide it almost is agony. Poe is a devious bastard, and he’s edging Kylo closer and closer to that plateau, threatening to tip him over the edge. It feels like they’ve been fucking for hours, and Kylo _knows_ it won’t be long after this that they’re back at it. He has no idea how long they have at this oasis, but he knows Poe will take him so hard he can barely sit, let alone stand, before it’s over. The thought causes a yelp of desire, and Poe tilts his head at him.

 _Poe is going to take him so hard, so hard, and so often._ The knowledge is giddy in his stomach, and he laughs some more.

“Babe?”  


“Make me come, please. Make me come. I want to. I want to, as many times as you can. Over and over and over until I’m insane from it. Poe…”  


Poe’s cheeks go hot pink, then, and there’s no colour but black in his eyes.

“ _Hotdamn_ … Ky, Ky, I’m–”

“Yes,” he says, begs, offers, orders… all, and more, and none. “Yes, Poe. Yes.”  


To everything.

Poe grabs his other leg, pulls him off the angle of cushions, making him fall on his back. His legs are shoved until he’s bent almost in half, and that’s - _that’s_ the angle he needs. Poe drives into him with his whole weight, and all but tears him open, but his body gives and gives and gives and then there’s a resistance - hah - and he curls his fingers into Poe’s hair.

They exchange a look - words not needed - and Kylo can’t even smile because the **weight** of this, of them, is like a heavy, comforting blanket that keeps the world at bay. Poe slams into him one last time, and the pressure inside flips a switch. His unattended prick pulses out ropy, white promises and the climax doesn’t seem to fade as Poe keeps moving. The friction is a delicious agony, and he’s not sure how he’s still inside his body. He feels simultaneously speared to the bed by that dick inside, and loose, floating, free. Poe rams into him twice more, and then he’s slack-jawed and wonder-eyed and the familiar sensation of Poe’s own orgasm washes over him like a tsunami. 

Poe holds still, lips parted around a word he won’t need to utter, and Kylo pulls him in to kiss. Pulls him in, and kisses the breath right out of him, even as his legs slip from Poe’s hands. They stay joined, but curl around one another as the kiss goes on. Kylo loves feeling Poe still inside him, and Poe is always happy to oblige. 

“I love you,” he says, when they stop for air.  


“Almost as much as I love you.”  


Kylo smiles. It’s a war he doesn’t mind if he wins or loses, for once. Fingers in his hair, and his beloved between his thighs.

Nothing - nothing could be better. Nothing. The stars continue to spin, but Kylo doesn’t see any Light but Poe. 


End file.
